The Born Free Man
by Phaseluna
Summary: The human race has been conquered by the Combine and life seems hopeless. Only they may take our lives, but they can never take our freedom-or can they? This is my first work of adapted fiction, please review honestly. Not true canon, but doesn't confl


**The Born Free Man**

**Chapter One: Lucky**

Some would say he's lucky.

He managed to survive this long at the very least. It probably wasn't skill, as he didn't have much.

Some would say he's lucky.

The track made a dull whirring noise as the pod traveled on; he felt weightless, his head rolled on his shoulders.

He had survived the Seven-Hour War despite being extremely young at the time; a large portion children his age had been killed even before their "Benefactors" had even arrived. He had always been rather grateful, as odd as it sounds, that he couldn't remember the days before the occupation. Without a point of contrast, the current state of affairs seemed the status quo.

He could hear a faint voice through the metallic cocoon. He moaned for help, no words left his lips. He was delirious; he slipped in and out of consciousness. The pod stopped with a jolt. He felt nauseous.

Some would say he's lucky.

A series of random, minor events may have coincided to his "benefit", but he would have hardly called it luck.

He was transferred from the very small City 34 to the quite large City 17 two or three years ago, it was hard to tell without calendars, and had actually arrived to the baffling news. City 34 had apparently "Gone Malignant," Combine jargon for an uprising. The place had been wiped clean not two hours after he had left. "City 17 is way too big for something like that to happen without warning, right?" he had asked of a man who had been on the same train. "Buddy," the man had replied, his face void of expression, "It's safer here."

He tried to remember exactly what had happened to that man. Headcrab? Arrest? An overzealous beating, perhaps? The pod had begun moving again. It was difficult to think over the din, difficult to think past the throbbing…

Some would say he's lucky.

The pod stopped again. A blinding flash of light, the first he had seen in days, greeted him.

The week had started out so well, too. He had found an extra food coupon under an empty can of Dr. Breen's Private Reserve. "My lucky day." he had thought. It surely belonged to someone, but as far as he knew the original owner was dead, and passing up a chance at some extra rations would be tantamount to masochism. Pocketing the slip of paper, he started towards home, Residential Block F-6. Outside was not the best place to be this time of the day. Primary shifts were still active, and the Metrocops frequently found themselves with nothing to do besides administer the odd beating.

His own shift started in - he checked his watch – three hours. That was enough time to get home, stash the coupon, catch a bit of a nap, and make it to the factory before he was due in.

The light burned his eyes, but they adjusted. He peered out of the pod, blue-gray metal covering the walls. The Combine had a signature metal that gave off a sort of dim reflection; it usually gave him the chills, now it just made him feel sick.

Some would say he's lucky.

He thought he could wake up on time. He _knew_ he could wake up on time. He'd taken naps before, the night shift allowed for it, but for some reason he didn't wake up until his shift had already started. He woke up and glanced at his watch in the dark. He did a double take. _Shit_. He grabbed his ID card from his dresser and ran out the door.

He was beginning to feel lucid. The nausea was subsiding. He looked up and realized where he was. _Shit._

_Shit shit shit shit shit._ His mind was racing. _I could take the alley path but it's more dangerous but it's faster but what if someone sees they wont see but I'm not allowed but I'm late!_ A scanner flashed ahead of him.

His eyes stopped pulsing as he watched the surveillance camera slide down the mounted track. He noticed something he hadn't before. He wasn't alone. There were five other people restrained against the wall, similar to his predicament.

He could make out a bright red dot on the temple of the nearest person. She looked about thirty years old and would have, in another situation, been rather attractive. Her hair was matted and dry. She had an unsightly bruise across her cheek, purple with a vile yellow tint. He pondered the red dot on her temple when realization hit him.

It hit him again. The electricity rushed through his body. It was all he could do not to pass out. "Citizen, you are outside past curfew. Explain or be detained." The Metrocop grunted. It was hard to understand through the gasmask, but he got the gist and pulled out his ID, but it wasn't his ID. It should have had a small sticker authorizing him to be out past curfew. It instead merely said "Insert facing this side up" He had grabbed the extra rations coupon. The officer grabbed the coupon, stared at it for a moment, then grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away. "Detain this civilian," he started, glancing at the coupon, "but keep him safe."

The rest of the day was a substantial blur.

A mechanical arm unfolded from an overhead track. On the end was a large needle. He stared at it in horror as it slowly pierced his abdomen. It wasn't as bad as he thought it could be. It felt similar to a normal injection. The building trembled. The needle retracted, and he heard a terrible, horrible, nightmarish scream from his right.

He recalled hearing the screams of his sister as the parasite had cracked open her skull.

The screams stopped as suddenly as they had begun. They then began again, higher pitched, between sobbing and screaming.

He remembered how his mother had died, eaten by a giant squid creature, yelling at his father to grab him and run, to cover his eyes. He couldn't cover his ears.

The screams stopped and started again, getting closer. He felt dread as he had never felt before.

He remembered his best friend, gored by a Strider.

The screams, closer than before.

He remembered a man he had seen in City 34. He had watched as Manhacks tore his flesh from his body, whipped the marrow from the bone.

The woman next to him began to scream, to plead. Pleas of mercy. Pleas of redemption. Pleas for her mother and father. Pleas for a god in whom she had likely lost faith. He didn't dare look at what could cause such screams.

He remembered the screams of his father. The screams he made as his skin burned away. The screams he made as his body was scorched to ash. The screams he made as he realized he was leaving his only son alone in the world.

The woman stopped screaming. He looked with horror at the machine inching closer to him.

Some would say he's lucky.

Some would say he's lucky because on his journey to Nova Prospeckt, he had taken some random paths that could be thought of as favorable. He was detained, rather than killed. He was in the last prison transport to not be executed. He was sent down the left rail; he would not be made into a Stalker. A malfunction in the injection misplaced some nanites in his brain; he would have his memories, he would have free will.

But…

The large cylinder began to rotate as it lowered to his torso. The secondary probe moved closer to his eye.

Some would say he's lucky.

The drill burrowed under his ribs. The probe gouged his eye. He screamed. They penetrated further. Blood didn't spill, the chemicals had seen to that. He screamed as he had never screamed before. The nanites were placed improperly to soothe even the slightest of the pain. He screamed for his mother. He screamed for his father. He screamed for a god in which he had lost faith long ago. He cursed the heavens. He cursed his fellow man. He screamed for death, he longed for that sweet release but it would not grant him the favor.

Some would say he's lucky.

They're dead wrong.


End file.
